


One Of Us Needs An Evil Goatee

by Kay_Jay_Dee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bring Back The Porn Challenge, Fingerfucking, M/M, Self-cest, Time Travel, Time Travel Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay_Jay_Dee/pseuds/Kay_Jay_Dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was kissing himself. Jesus Christ, it wasn’t any less weird the second time around.<br/>Or, the one where Stiles travels back in time and has sex with himself.<br/>Or, possibly the weirdest thing I have ever written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Of Us Needs An Evil Goatee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Bring Back The Porn Challenge on InsaneJournal.  
> I don't know where this came from. I honestly thought my first Teen Wolf fic would be full-on Sterek. Instead, it's, um, this.

Stiles felt like an idiot when his first instinct after realising his spell had gone wrong was to glance down at what he was wearing. But this one wasn’t one of the ‘say one syllable wrong and the world will probably end’ spells that Deaton still kept him away from; this was one that had been okayed for him to work with on his own. How bad could things go?

And besides, here he was, in ripped jeans and bare feet and a too-big black t-shirt with a spaghetti sauce stain on the corner. There was a long scratch on his left forearm. He had a bruise a few inches above it. He knew this look. He’d had it memorised since he was sixteen. 

This was it.

The room started growing smaller. He could hear Deaton’s voice in his mind, telling him not to panic, and he held on to the thought of Derek’s smile to help keep his breathing steady. The air around him compacted, squeezing him tighter and tighter until he couldn’t keep inhaling. He shut his eyes and started counting.

_Three… two… one…_

He could breathe again.

Stiles opened his eyes and, yep, here he was. And there he was, sprawled on the bed on his stomach, staring up at Stiles with his mouth hanging wide open.

Stiles ran a hand through his hand. “Hi. Jesus, fuck, no.” He was already ducking. He knew what sixteen-year-old him did when a strange man appeared in his bedroom in a swirling vortex of light. When you had a heavy chemistry textbook to use as a weapon, you fucking used it. But Stiles knew how he had reacted to things when he was sixteen and there were werewolves and evil druids and so much messed up shit everywhere. So he ducked and the textbook thumped against the wall behind him. By the time he straightened back up, teenager Stiles was standing up, carefully keeping as much distance as possible between him and his older self. “Who,” he said, “the fuck are you?”

Stiles sheepishly raised a hand. “Hi,” he said again. “Um.” He bit his tongue. He could remember exactly how this had gone - it wasn’t really something you could forget, to be honest - but he was still somehow lost for words. “So...”

“Who are you?” younger Stiles demanded again. “And don't think I won't make you talk. I’ve got a whole pack of werewolves on my side, buddy, and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.”

Stiles grinned. He was still proud of that one, to be honest. “I know,” he said right before remembering how not reassuring that had been. “I mean -”

“You _know_?” younger Stiles yelped. “Have you been _watching_ us? You watched us and decided to go after the weak, squishy human, is that it? Well, listen, buddy -”

“No,” said Stiles, holding up both hands. “No, no, no.” He kept chanting it until his younger self shut up. God, had he really been that annoying? No wonder Derek had constantly been shoving him into walls. Of course, now - well, now as in seven years after this current moment - he was still shoving Stiles into walls, but for very different reasons. Reasons Stiles could totally get down with.

God, Derek was going to kill him for this. His nose already wrinkled whenever Stiles’s study smelled of magic and he looked like he was ready to tie Stiles to a chair to keep him safe whenever Stiles talked about the possibility of things going wrong. Did Stiles have to tell Derek about this? He guessed he did - and if he told it right, Derek would laugh. And the rule was that Derek’s laugh made anything worthwhile. 

Of course, now Stiles would have to work out if it counted as cheating if you did it with yourself…

Talking of which, younger Stiles was staring at him like he was considering reaching for the bat hidden underneath his bed. Right, an explanation.

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling winningly. He stopped once he remembered how unhinged that had made him look. “This is going to sound crazy, but…”

* * * 

“You’re me,” sixteen-year-old Stiles said carefully. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he waited for older Stiles to nod before continuing. “From the future.”

“Yes.”

Stiles’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

Because of course he’d done this. Instead of speed-dialling Scott and telling him about the crazy stranger, he’d asked the crazy stranger to prove it. 

Which Stiles now had to do because if he didn’t, he or his past self would rip a hole in the space-time continuum, and then this would become a world-destroying spell. He bit his tongue. The problem was he couldn’t remember exactly what his future self had said to him when he’d been his past self.

But he _could_ remember what it was like to be sixteen.

“The Darach, Jennifer, she’s dead?” Stiles asked, already starting to pace. His younger self nodded, watching his every move. “And Derek’s left town?” Another nod, along with a shadow crossing Stiles’s face. Yep, Stiles got that. Even seven years later, he was still mad at Derek for not saying goodbye. “And he and Scott are idiots for letting Deucalion live?”

“ _Yes_!” Stiles burst out. “The guy calls himself a fucking demon wolf and he’s got his sight back and a man who goes around all, ‘I am become death’ is not suddenly going to learn the meaning of Christmas.” His eyes narrowed at Stiles. “Don’t distract me. You’re meant to be proving that you’re me. Oh my God,” Stiles heard him mutter under his breath. “How is this my life?”

Yep, Stiles got that, too.

“Okay,” he said, steepling his fingers under his chin. “You’ve got all your porn saved on your laptop in a file called Fungus. You changed it a while ago from 1920’s Cars because your dad might actually be interested in that.” Stiles knew at this point, most of the men had stubble and dark hair. Stiles will never make it all the way through the video of one of those men fucking a kid with a buzzcut without coming. It’s going to take him a couple more months before he realises why that is.

“The only person who knows about your crush on Danny is Scott.” _And anyone who’s ever seen you talk to Danny,_ he added mentally, but Stiles didn’t need to know that now. “And Lydia Martin is a strawberry-blond goddess, and her kissing you was so much more than you’d ever expected, but you also thought there’d _be_ something more to it, and now you’re wondering if you’re crazy and if you’ll never be happy with anyone because she’s Lydia fucking Martin,” he finished with a flourish. Or he would have if he knew how to flourish.

Stiles was staring at him open-mouthed and, yeah, okay, that was why Derek always gave him that Look whenever Stiles did it.

God, Stiles really did have a nice mouth. Derek wasn’t lying about that.

And this Stiles, the Stiles whose mouth older Stiles was staring at while visions of blowjobs danced in his head, was only sixteen-years-old.

 _And you’re going to fuck him anyway,_ a traitorous part of Stiles’s brain whispered. 

Well, he didn’t really have a choice. He understood paradoxes. When you were sixteen and visited by your older self, you fucking researched this shit, okay? He would rather have sex with a teenager than throw the universe into the cold, dark void of a paradox.

See? He was fucking noble. 

“Holy shit,” younger Stiles breathed, pulling older Stiles back into the present. Past. Whatever. “I – oh my God. I grow up hot.”

And, yeah, there it was. Stiles grinned. He remembered that. There was a huge difference between finding an older guy hot and finding an older guy hot only to discover that you grew up to be him. To know you grew into your legs and you finally knew what to do with your hair and your hands stopped flailing hopelessly and started looking sexy instead and while you weren’t built like Derek, you actually managed to become wiry. 

What Stiles hadn’t known was that he’d hit twenty-three and he still wouldn’t feel like he fit in his body and his hands still moved too much and, yeah, the muscles were there, but when you were surrounded by werewolves, wiry didn’t really do much for you.

The hair, though. Stiles would totally own the hair. Just a little longer than he’d worn it in high school, once he or Derek had been running their fingers through it for a while, it gave him the perfect ‘just been fucked’ look. If they had been Derek’s fingers, he probably had just been fucked. And if Derek had been running his fingers through Stiles’s hair, it had probably been slow, Derek taking half an hour to stretch Stiles before slowly pushing himself inside, eyes intent on Stiles’s the whole time, his mouth open and begging to be kissed until it was red...

“Uh, dude? Are you okay?” 

Stiles pulled himself out of his thoughts, giving the kid in front of him a guilty smile. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m good.”

Younger Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re really me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Stiles nodded anyway. “Yeah. Crazy, huh? Because I remember this. This, you, me, me being you, wondering how I become me, all of that.”

Stiles was laughing. “Now I know you’re me. That’s totally something I’d say.”

“And you’ll say it in, like, seven years.”

“So how did it happen?” younger Stiles asked and older Stiles flopped down onto the bed, sprawled out on his back. “Was it witches? Oh my God, do we find witches?”

“No,” Stiles interrupted. “Well, sort of yes, it’s kind of witches, but it’s not… it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not allowed to tell you.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. And the guy who told me the same thing. And I guess the guy who told him that, too.” He lifted his head to stare at his younger self, who was mouthing the words Stiles just said as if trying to make sense of them. “Seriously, I’ve given myself headaches with this, ‘cause it just keeps going.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffed and shifted on the bed, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard and bending his knees, placing his feet flat on the mattress. “Next question.”

“Oh, God,” Stiles groaned. He knew what was coming next and where that will lead.

“You’ve - I’ve - you’ve had sex, right? I’m not a virgin, am I? God, please tell me I’m not a virgin when I’m twenty three.”

“You’ve had sex,” Stiles said.

Younger Stiles thrust both fists into the air. “And thank you, God,” he said. “Who was it?”

“I'm not telling you, kid.”

“Don't call me kid, I'm you.”

“You're me seven years ago.”

Younger Stiles's face lit up before he could argue any more. “Oh! Is it Danny? It’s totally Danny, isn’t it?”

He did fuck Danny later on. He'd be twenty two and back from New York and still broken up with Derek. They met at Jungle and Danny sounded incredulous when he breathed, “Jesus Christ, Stilinski, when did you grow up?” It had been good and they were both a little drunk and Stiles found out that night that Danny wasn’t lying about liking to cuddle.

He’d called Derek the next day and Derek’s voice broke a little when he said, “You’re back in town?”

“No,” Stiles said. He didn’t want to spoil that surprise for himself. “It’s, um, well, me.”

Stiles’s eyebrows rose up so high he was rivalling Derek’s unimpressed face. “You? So, like, me?”

“Don’t say it like that, dude,” Stiles said. “You make it sound weird.”

Younger Stiles laughed so hard he fell off the bed. Stiles grinned, then started to laugh, too.

Once younger Stiles had recovered, he folded his arms on the side of the bed, resting his chin on them, and looked up at his older self. “So…” he said, dragging out the word, his mouth a perfect ‘O’. “How does this… how did it… happen?”

“Erm.” Stiles swallowed. He sat up properly. “I don’t know, it just sort of… does.”

“Would it kill you to be more specific?”

“It’s like…” This should not have been so hard. He knew exactly what had happened, but actually explaining it was more awkward than he could have imagined. At least he now knew why future him had seemed like such an idiot. “You’re there - well, obviously, but you were there when I was you and he… me… I just sort of…” He leaned forward, rolling half onto his side, and pressed his lips awkwardly against Stiles’s.

He was kissing himself. Jesus fucking Christ, it wasn’t any less weird the second time around.

Stiles’s mouth was slack beneath his, lips chapped and, for the first few seconds, unmoving. Then he made a whining sound and was lurching up to kiss Stiles back, right before Stiles was about to pull away. It was sloppy, too wet and too hard, but so damned enthusiastic Stiles couldn’t help responding. He carded his fingers through his younger self’s hair, then grabbed as much of a handful as he could and pulled slightly, using it to gain a little more control over the kiss. Not that it worked incredibly well. When he pulled away, he had spit on his chin.

“Slow down,” he said. “There’s no rush, I’ve got - what time is it?” He grabbed the phone off the bedside table and peered at it. 4:48 PM. “About fifty minutes? We’ve got time. You can get off in two minutes thirty seven seconds.” Because of course he'd timed himself one night. 

Stiles yelped. “How do you know that?” Then he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Right, yeah, okay. God, that’s kind of creepy.” His eyes narrowed. “And why did you kiss me?”

“Because you asked me what happened,” Stiles said, shrugging. His hand was still buried in his younger self’s hair, he noticed idly. It was soft, softer than Derek’s was even when it wasn’t coated in product. It was nice. “And he kissed me, which meant I had to kiss you.”

“He?”

“Me.”

“Oh.”

Then they were laughing again and Stiles couldn’t help kissing himself again. God, he really had had - did have? - a nice mouth. How the fuck had Derek managed to resist him for so long?

Self-control. Something Derek had in spades and Stiles didn’t have any of whatsoever.

Which was why he was kissing himself again and why he was being kissed back and why his hands were sliding over Stiles’s plaid shirt, doing their best to tug him back onto the bed. This kiss was no less messy than the previous one, but it was somehow good. Stiles was inexperienced, sure, but he was catching on fast, his tongue tracing the line of Stiles’s teeth and his lips, although chapped, were soft and willing. _Well, fuck me,_ Stiles thought, and then laughed, breaking the kiss.

“What?” younger Stiles asked. 

“Funny thoughts.”

“I know that feel, bro.” A look of pure horror crossed Stiles’s face. “Does that happen a lot? You’re, you know, with someone, _gettin’ funky_ , and then you imagine what Peter would look like if you kicked him in the balls or something? Oh my God, am I going to be physically incapable of not laughing during sex? Oh, fuck.”

“Okay, first of all,” Stiles said, “ _never_ say ‘getting funky’ again. Just stop.” He remembered this advice. He also remembered not taking it. He’d said it to Derek yesterday, actually. Well, yesterday seven years from now. “Second, you do have sex without laughing. _But_ \- and this is a pretty huge but, man, oh, come on, don’t laugh at that.” Even if it had been hilarious. “Don’t have sex with someone you can’t laugh with. It sucks.”

Stiles frowned. “The fact that you know that means I do it, don’t I?”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles admitted. “But ‘cause I said that, you’ll only do it once.” It had been in New York. Her name was Rosa, and she had been stunning and terrifying, which was apparently Stiles’s type in a big way, and laughing with her had been fucking impossible. Thank God for his older self. Of course, now it was thank God for himself. 

“How many people have you slept with?” Stiles demanded. His eyes were huge and if Stiles didn’t know better, he’d say his younger self was offended. But he did know better.

It was a lot, hearing your older self talk about his conquests when you’d half convinced yourself that you’d be a virgin for the rest of your life.

“Erm, including you?” Stiles waited for the nod. “Five. Five different people, not five separate times.” 

“ _Who_?” 

“You. And - no, it’s meant to be a surprise. I’m not just going to tell you who you have sex with, nope, not happening.”

“Then why are you telling me that I have sex with you?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Because of course you do. Come on, are you honestly going to pass this up? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life not knowing what it’s like to have sex with yourself when you could’ve found out?”

“I know what it’s like to have sex with myself,” Stiles said. “Trust me, I know pretty fucking well what it’s like. When you put it that way, I get laid two, three times a day. Sometimes four.”

God, he’d been irritating as a kid.

“So you’re saying you don’t want to have sex?” Stiles smirked.

“Oh,” said younger Stiles. Then, after a pause, “Oh.”

Stiles grinned. “I love that the only person who can make me speechless is me.”

The other Stiles snorted. “You should’ve arrived a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “You could’ve taught Derek your ways.”

“He’ll learn,” Stiles said with a grin, remembering this morning’s round of sex, which had left him gasping wordlessly into a pillow.

Stiles’s head jerked and he stared up with wide eyes. “He comes back?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “Make sure you and Scott are in the preserve on the eleventh of October.” That date had been committed to memory for years. “He’ll need your help.”

“He always needs help.”

Stiles watched his younger self worrying at his lower lip for a moment, then carefully said, “He doesn’t hate you, you know.”

Younger Stiles sighed, releasing his lip from in between his teeth. “Yeah, no, there’s been progress,” he said. “He actually tolerates me now.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Stiles said, maybe too loudly. “Derek’s a puppy and right now, he’s miserable without you.” He watches the kid’s eyebrows raise until they’ve practically disappeared into his hairline. “Fine, don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” Stiles said. “Don’t tell him I told you and don’t ever let him know that you know. Just wait it out.”

“I hate waiting.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Stiles knew for a fact that he wasn’t the only one contemplating a tall, brooding werewolf who turned stubble into an art form. 

“Hey,” said young Stiles suddenly, smacking the bed. “Didn’t you say something about sex?”

Ah, the romance.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So what’s non-masturbatory sex with myself like?”

“Um,” Stiles said. He licked his lips. “Something like this.” 

And then they were kissing again. Stiles tried to keep it light, but before he knew it, his mouth was open and his tongue was fucking into Stiles’s mouth. His hand twisted in Stiles’s shirt again and he started tugging, pulling harder and harder until the kid got the hint and clambered up onto the bed. Stiles shifted them closer to the centre of the bed, then pushed his younger self onto his back, breaking the kiss. A string of spit connected their lips for a second as he pulled away. Stiles would have laughed, but now he had himself spread out on the bed, staring up at him with - fuck, were his eyes really that pretty? And did his lips still look like that when his mouth was slack and shiny with spit?

_Jesus fucking Christ._

“I think I want to fuck you,” Stiles said before he could stop himself.

“Um, yeah.” Stiles swallowed. “I’d be down with that.”

Stiles straddled the kid’s thighs. “See, the awesome thing about sex,” he said, “is that it’s not _your_ hand. It doesn’t sound that great, but then -” He palmed Stiles’s crotch and within a second he could feel Stiles getting hard. He grinned. “Pretty great, huh?”

“You haven’t even gotten my pants off.” Young Stiles’s mouth twisted as Stiles pressed down harder, kneading, groping. “And I’m sixteen, remember? Everything gets me hard.”

“Oh my God, how has nobody killed you yet?” Stiles said. He undid younger Stiles’s pants anyway. He could still remember freaking out at this point because someone else’s hand - in a way - was on his dick, but he could also remember desperately telling himself to _be cool, man_. He’d lose that habit soon enough. “I don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yeah, actually, you do,” Stiles said, a slow smirk sliding over his face. “Because otherwise you’d create a paradox, right?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” younger Stiles said. “Otherwise, paradox.”

Stiles laughed. God, he should hang out with himself more often. “Take off your shirt,” he said. “I’ve only got forty minutes left.” That said, he pulled off his own t-shirt. 

Younger Stiles’s eyes raked over his chest. “Oh,” he said and Stiles instantly wanted to pull his shirt back on at how disappointed he sounded. “I don’t get abs, huh?”

“Hey! These are abs!” Jesus, did the kid have to raise his eyebrows like that all the time? “Not Scott-level abs, but they’re there. Sort of.”

Stiles’s nose had wrinkled. “Did you seriously just bring up Scott when you have your hand on my dick?”

Stiles felt his own nose scrunch up. “Oh, God, yeah, sorry. Won’t happen again. Now, c’mon, shirt off, now.”

“You’re bossy,” Stiles muttered, shoving his future self off his thighs and sitting up to tug off his plaid shirt and throw it on the floor. His blue t-shirt quickly followed. 

Stiles fought off feeling like a pervert as he checked out his younger self. Why had nobody ever told him he was this hot when he was sixteen? Because, God, abs or no, he was totally doable; his moles had never looked that enticing in the mirror. This is why people shouldn’t hang around werewolves - they totally wrecked your perceptions of what ‘hot’ was. Assholes.

“Dude,” Stiles said. 

“What?”

“Nothing, just...” Stiles looked down at himself and the mole over his left nipple, the exact same one on younger Stiles's chest. “We totally have the same torso.”

“Dude,” young Stiles shot back. “We’re totally the same person.”

“We’re really not,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, we are. Same face and everything. You just have more…” He gestured with vague circles around his face. “Cheekbones. Really nice cheekbones.”

“It doesn’t mean we’re the same person.” Stiles could still remember being on the other side of this argument. It was weird. 

“Says who?”

“Me. And therefore you in a couple of years.” He smacked his hand over his face the moment he said it.

“Because we’re the same person.”

“No,” Stiles said quickly, straddling his younger self again. “Because I’ve had sex and you haven’t. I’ve given a blowjob and you haven’t. I’ve -”

But young Stiles’s pupils had dilated suddenly, leaving Stiles wordless at the way they were staring at him. “Do I blow you? Oh my God, can I?”

Stiles had to swallow a whimper at the thought of those lips - _his_ lips - wrapped around his cock, hot and tight, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked. “Um, yeah,” he said, swallowing and trying to stop his voice from sounding so rough. “That - that can totally be a thing that happens, yes.”

“Cool,” Stiles said. “Now get off me.” He grinned. “Get off me so I can get you off.”

“Never say that again,” Stiles said.

“It wasn't that terrible.” He paused. “So, um, how are we going to…?”

Stiles kissed himself again. He made it last for as long as possible, making it slow and gentle and fucking _tender_. He knew himself. He’d be freaking out right now, as much as he tried to hide it, and Stiles was the adult in the situation. It was his job to calm the kid down.

And then have sex with him.

Whose idea was it to let Stiles be an adult, anyway?

He slid a hand in between their bodies and down younger Stiles’s pants. He was almost completely hard already. Which was good because Stiles wanted to get him off at least twice before he left.

Screw paradoxes. If he could manage a third time, he’d totally do it. 

Hands cupped Stiles’s ass, squeezing over his jeans. Tentatively, the moved up to the waistband and then slipped down the back. Younger Stiles gasped into Stiles’s mouth. “No underwear?”

“Couldn’t be bothered,” Stiles said. He nuzzled his younger self’s jaw, sliding his mouth down to his neck and biting lightly, grinning at the moan that induced. He didn’t do it again, though. Okay, so that was one thing that sucked about sleeping with yourself. It was tricky when you had a being-bitten kink but not a biting kink. 

That was one of the many reasons why Stiles and Derek were totally soulmates.

Stiles rocked backwards and forwards while sucking on Stiles’s neck. He thrust his cock against Stiles’s crotch as best he could, then pushed back into Stiles’s hands. “God, I could come just from this,” he said, mostly to himself.

And it was himself that replied. “I’ll never speak to you again if you do. I want you to fuck me.”

Stiles pulled back with a laugh. “I can do that,” he said, looking down into Stiles’s eyes, whose pupils were blown wide and dark. “I can totally do that.”

“But I still want to suck you.”

“You can do that, too,” Stiles said. “Sex isn’t, like, a one act per time thing, dude. You can do anything and everything.”

“Will I?”

Stiles grinned and leaned down for another kiss. “Yeah, you will,” he said. “Like, _everything_.”

“Lydia?”

Stiles smacked his younger self’s thigh sharply. Okay, now he got why he had done that even though he had to remember how much it had hurt. “Don’t be a dick. She’s a person, not a thing, and if she ever heard you say something like that, she would rip your balls off.”

Stiles made a face. “Way to ruin the mood.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow and squeezed the still-hard cock in his hand. He scooted back a little for a better angle, then pulled Stiles’s cock through the flap in his boxers, swiping his thumb over the already-wet tip. The younger Stiles arched up off the bed, moaning. “Yeah,” Stiles said. “Mood totally ruined.”

“Fuck you. And don’t you dare say that’s the plan.”

“You know me so well,” Stiles said. He started sliding his hand up and down Stiles’s dick, wriggling in his pants. His own cock was pressing uncomfortably against the inside of his jeans. The friction of the denim was too rough, but Stiles couldn’t help rubbing against it as best he could. Watching himself - watching Stiles try thrust up into his hand, watching his face grow flushed, and watching that fucking _mouth_ as it let out moan after moan - was so much more of a turn-on than he’d ever thought it would be. He’d known he grew up sexy; he hadn’t known he already was. “Christ,” he breathed. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. You. Just - hold on.” Stiles swung himself off Stiles’s hips and stood up, ignoring the way his younger self reached for him. He undid his jeans as quickly as he could, which took longer than it should have due to how clumsy his fingers were. He shoved them down his thighs, grabbing his dick as he stepped out of them. He sighed in relief. “God, I hate it when I realise I’ve been teasing myself.”

Stiles stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “That’s my dick.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Yeah, it is.” 

“This is weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, then younger Stiles lifted his hips and started pushing his own jeans down along with his boxers. “Fuck, why am I still wearing pants?” He was also still wearing shoes and Stiles didn’t bother to hide his laugh when the jeans got stuck on them. He knelt on the edge of the bed and tugged off Stiles’s sneakers, then helped with the jeans and underwear. 

“Better?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh. Now get up here.”

Stiles ignored the command, looking at younger Stiles’s dick. Wow, okay, yeah, now he could see why that had deserved a comment. That was _his_ dick. His dick that he was staring at on someone else’s body. 

This really was too fucking weird.

Hands closed around his biceps and pulled at him, but Stiles stayed exactly where he was. He reached out to brush the dick with his fingertips. It twitched when he slid them under the ridge of the head, just the way Stiles knew he liked. “Fuck, dude,” he said. 

“Yep.”

The two Stileses looked at each other for a moment. The older one was the first to speak. “Where do you want me?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I’ve already gotten to live out most of my fantasies,” Stiles said. “This is your first time. It should be what you want.”

“I grow up to be fucking generous,” Stiles muttered. Then, decisively, “I really do want to suck your dick. Lie down.”

Stiles’s mouth grew dry at the thought, which was ridiculous. He’d had a thousand blowjobs before - he’d had a thousand good blowjobs before and a handful of mediocre ones. But no one in the past - his past, today’s future - had Stiles’s mouth. It was wet, red from the earlier kissing, and being licked slowly while the kid looked speculatively at his future self’s dick. “Okay,” Stiles managed to say. “Yeah, I… okay.” He lay down on the bed on his back. He tried desperately to get some spit back into his mouth as his younger self shuffled down the bed to settle himself in between Stiles’s legs. He was staring at Stiles’s dick like it was a puzzle he was trying to solve and all it was doing was making Stiles desperate to squirm and thrust up towards those full wet lips.

You are the adult in this situation, he kept repeating to himself. And you are not going to lose control like a sixteen-year-old. A sixteen-year-old who is looking at your crotch like it holds the answer to life, the universe, and everything. 

When Stiles finally shifted forward and gave Stiles’s dick a tiny, experimental lick, it was all Stiles could do not to cry out. “Um,” he said, voice breaking when Stiles licked again. “Hate to break the mood, but - _oh, dear fucking God_.”

Younger Stiles had slid his entire mouth Stiles's dick, lips tight around it, mouth hot, hotter than Stiles had ever anticipated. There was the slight scrape of teeth, enough to make Stiles worried, before his younger self quickly covered them. He didn’t get far down before choking, throat convulsing and making Stiles groan, but his hand came up to wrap around the base and that was good enough.

It was the least experienced blowjob Stiles had ever received. Which was fair enough because it was also the least experienced blowjob Stiles had ever given. His teeth occasionally slipped against the skin of Stiles’s dick and he kept pulling away to take deep breaths, though he did it while licking and lapping at Stiles’s dick like he couldn’t bring himself to pull away entirely. It was inconsistent and Stiles’s breath was cold every time he pulled back.

But.

But it was _good_. It was the messiest blowjob Stiles had ever had and he was discovering he might actually really, really like that. Derek was all finesse and teasing, but this was wet and sloppy. Younger Stiles’s chin was shinier with spit every time Stiles saw him. His lips were tight when he slid up and down. Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off him as his head bobbed on Stiles’s dick.

It turned out to be a mistake when Stiles looked up. Their eyes met and it was like looking into a mirror. Maybe it was the lighting, but Stiles looked exactly like he would in seven years and it was freaking seven-years-later Stiles out. And by ‘freaking him out’ he meant ‘turning him on like nothing ever had before.’

Maybe he was more narcissistic than he had thought. These were Gilderoy Lockhart level fantasies right here. 

“You good?” younger Stiles asked. Stiles’s dick was rubbing against his cheek and _he was not meant to have these thoughts about himself_.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. It came out as more of a whimper than an affirmation. “Yeah, fine, great, totally awesome. I just…” He took a deep breath, trying to get blood to return to the upper half of his body. “You’re… you’re not as good at this as you think, but you're somehow still really fucking good.”

Younger Stiles frowned. “Uh… thanks? I think.”

“Any time.” He had just started being able to think again when his dick disappeared into that fucking mouth again. Younger Stiles was sucking harder than before, like he was trying to get Stiles’s brains out through his dick, and Stiles couldn’t help crying out. “ _Fuck_ , God, yes, okay, yes, fuck. _Jesus_.”

Stiles pulled off with a pop and grinned. “Not as good as I think, huh?”

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“God, yes.” But then he was licking at Stiles’s dick again, then taking it into his mouth, deeper than he had before, and swallowing around it. 

Stiles lost track of the next five minutes. He knew there was moaning and swearing and lots of spit. It was only when Stiles started swirling his tongue around the head while jerking Stiles off at the same time that he placed a hand on the kid’s forehead and, using all his self-control, flicked him until he pulled away. He glared up at Stiles. “What was that for?”

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” Stiles said, “and then I’ll fall asleep and you won’t get off. S’your choice.”

“Oh.” Stiles gave his future self’s dick one last, longing look, then crawled back up the bed. He placed his hands on either side of Stiles’s head and leaned down to kiss him. Stiles kissed him back, tasting himself on his own tongue. Which, like everything else about this situation, was hot and fucked up as all hell. 

He slid a hand up over the kid’s back. His skin was hot; both their chests were flushed red. “Come on,” Stiles said as he broke the kiss. “On your stomach.”

“You’re really going to do it?”

Stiles nodded. “Sure, if you want me to.”

“I do,” younger Stiles said quickly, clambering off his older self and lying face-down on the bed. “Oh my God, I do.”

Stiles rolled over to reach into the bedside table drawers. The bottle of lube he found was half full - or, rather, half empty. Stiles was never optimistic when it came to lack of lube. He grabbed it and rubbed his hand over the back of Stiles’s thigh. “Relax,” he said. “I know for a fact you like this.”

Stiles laughed, but didn’t lose any of the tension Stiles could see in his body. Stiles ran a hand over his back muscles, too, pressing lightly in the way Derek liked. He gently pushed the kid’s legs apart and settled in between them, then leaned forward and draped himself over Stiles’s back, keeping most of his weight on his arms. He had to bite his lip for a moment when his cock pressed against Stiles’s ass, not wanting this to be sexual right now. “Hey,” he whispered right in Stiles’s ear. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Stiles twisted to look at himself as best he could. He managed it with about half an eyeball. “What about that paradox you managed to create?”

And that was _bizarre_ because Stiles could remember saying that, okay? He could remember hearing what he was about to say and he could remember his reply. He could remember this whole fucking conversation. 

And yet, he still thought younger him might change his mind. 

“Fuck the paradox,” he said. God, that felt as cool to say as he’d imagined it would be. “We’ll deal. I’m not doing this with you unless you want it.”

He felt Stiles take a breath. “I want it,” the kid said. “But I just - fuck, I never actually imagined my first time would be like this.”

“Crazy, huh? ‘Cause you’ve imagined it a lot.” Younger Stiles laughed underneath him and Stiles grinned, biting Stiles’s earlobe lightly in a way he knew would make him shiver. “It’s really fucking good,” he said. “You think about cloning for the next couple of weeks ‘cause it’s _really_ good.”

Stiles twisted his neck even further until he was able to kiss Stiles, just a light brush of their lips. “Okay,” he said. “Do me.” 

How the fuck had he ever landed someone as romantic as Derek? 

Stiles kissed the side of his younger self’s face, then licked him, receiving a groaned “ _dude, gross_ ”, before sliding back down his body. He settled on his knees in between Stiles’s legs and… oh. It was the first time he’d ever looked at his ass from this angle and _oh_. It was _nice_. He had a mole in the centre of his left cheek, which finally explained why Derek was so fixated on that spot. He rubbed the palms of his hands up Stiles’s thighs until one was settled on either buttcheek. He squeezed lightly, smiled when Stiles keened, and then leaned down to bite the spot right over the mole. The kid whimpered and Stiles grinned, pulling back. There was a kink he helped himself discovered. God, his dad would be so proud.

Talking of which…

“Dad isn’t home right now, is he?”

Stiles twisted to stare at him with a look of absolute horror on his face. “You’re talking about Dad? _Now_?”

Stiles shrugged unapologetically. “You’re a screamer. Is Dad home?”

“ _No_ , he’s not _home_.” Stiles was pretty sure he never sounded that disgusted again in his life. “What do you mean, I’m a screamer?”

“You’re loud,” Stiles said. He parted Stiles’s cheeks and rubbed the pad of a dry finger over his hole. Stiles gasped and the older Stiles grinned. “See? Now pass me a pillow, will you?” When the pillow was thrown at him, he pushed it underneath Stiles’s hips and then dripped lube onto his fingers. Younger Stiles flinched when the bottle was popped open and Stiles rubbed a hand over his lower back. “Any time you need this to stop or slow down, you say so,” he said. There was no reply. “Stiles.”

“Okay, okay, got it. Now come on, I thought you said you hated teasing yourself.”

Stiles grinned and slowly circled one lube-covered finger over Stiles’s asshole. Younger Stiles tensed, then groaned as his body seemed to melt into the bed. “That - that’s better than when I do it.”

“I’ve had more practice,” Stiles replied. He pushed gently and watched, swallowing hard, as the tip of his finger slid into Stiles’s ass. This was… it wasn’t as good as stretching out Derek, but it wasn’t bad by any means, and Derek never moaned like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him the way Stiles was doing now. The moans grew louder as Stiles pushed his finger in up to the second knuckle, but they were muffled; Stiles was biting a pillow. “Being loud’s okay,” Stiles said conversationally, like he wasn’t pulling his finger out of Stiles’s ass and pushing it back in slowly. “As far as I know, everyone’s liked it. So, you know, don’t worry so much.” As he talked, he crooked his finger a little, searching. He had never found his own prostate before, not without a toy; fingering himself always made his wrist ache. But today? Today was going to be the day.

He slid a second finger into Stiles, the kid stretching easily around him. Stiles swallowed when he saw his younger self’s hips started to rock, humping the pillow shoved under him. He somehow managed to keep his free hand on Stiles’s hip instead of moving it to his dick. “Good?” he asked. He received an “mmm” in reply, a hum that suddenly turned into a moan when Stiles twisted his fingers in what was apparently just the right way. “There you are,” Stiles muttered, pressing further in. Younger Stiles’s hips sped up, rocking back onto Stiles's fingers in between thrusts, and his moans were almost constant now, higher-pitched than usual. Stiles knew that sound. “You can come,” he said. “Any time you need to, you can come.”

Stiles continued massaging Stiles’s prostate, pressing his lips together in concentration. He kept the pressure steady, his movements slow, as Stiles’s thrusting grew more and more erratic before he stilled suddenly, face pressing into the pillow. It did nothing to hide how long his moan lasted for. Stiles’s chest was heaving, he realised. Watching yourself have an orgasm apparently did that to you.

He kept pumping his fingers in and out, keeping them away from Stiles’s prostate once the kid started to whimper about it. He watched Stiles turn his head to the side to breathe out in heavy pants. He ran his hand from Stiles’s hip to the nape of his neck, squeezing firmly the way Derek would in the future, the way that grounded Stiles like nothing else. He drizzled more lube over his fingers while he waited for his younger self to return to earth, making their path even more slippery than before.

He was still hard. Not desperately, not so much that it hurt, but definitely hard. Watching Stiles fall apart under his hands and then quiver as he pulled himself back together wasn’t exactly a turn off. Talk about discovering kinks you never knew you had - watching yourself come was apparently amazing.

“Mirror sex,” he said quietly.

“What?” Stiles said. His voice was heavy and exhausted. Orgasms always had made Stiles sleepy. “Yeah, I guess, kind of. One of us needs an evil goatee, though.”

“Not you,” Stiles said. “Me. And this is time-travel, not a mirror 'verse. What I meant was I should totally have sex in front of a mirror with De… um. Someone.”

Stiles propped himself up on his elbow, the side of his face squishing against his hand. “So you’re with someone? Like, long-term?”

“Yeah, Stiles said. He could feel himself starting to smile and he knew how dopey he looked, but he didn’t really care. He hadn’t thought his future self was an idiot for looking like this; he’d looked ridiculous, but happy. It had been reassuring, knowing he had something that made him look like that to look forward to.

“And you’re happy with him,” Stiles said. “Her? Who is it?”

Stiles shook his head. It was a strange conversation to have while he was working his fingers in someone’s ass, but somehow, it worked. “Not telling,” he said. “It should be a surprise.”

“Him or her?”

“Not telling.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “God, I’m stubborn,” he muttered. He huffed out a sigh. “Fine. So are you happy with your girlfriend and or boyfriend?” His eyes lit up. “Is it an and? Have you had a threesome yet?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “But, yeah, you’re happy.” He felt that goofy grin making its way over his face again. “Really happy.”

“Good to know,” Stiles said. He stretched lazily, tightening around Stiles's fingers as he did. Stiles’s mouth went dry at the sight of the muscles bunching and pulling under that pale skin. “I could totally sleep right now.”

“I could totally fuck you anyway.” Stiles winced. “God, I’d forgotten how creepy that was. Sorry.”

“S’all right,” Stiles said. He settled back down on the pillow and peered over his shoulder. “You gonna do anything else with those fingers?”

In reply, Stiles just pushed them in deeper. His younger self groaned and let his face fall back into the pillow. “Oh, God.”

Stiles grinned. He dripped more lube directly onto Stiles’s hole and Stiles hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, that’s cold.”

“Mmm.” Stiles started to ease in a third finger. It was easy now that Stiles had come. He was pliant, his entire body a mass of relaxed, sleepy muscles. Within seconds, Stiles was pumping his fingers in and out of the kid’s hole, listening to the him moan. He spread his fingers apart slightly; Stiles wasn’t exactly huge, but he didn’t want this to be painful. He’d only be hurting himself, after all.

He started jacking himself off slowly, just to keep himself hard. As if having Stiles moaning and wriggling like that in front of him wouldn’t do the job.

“Do you want a condom?” he asked.

“Did you want one?”

“No,” Stiles admitted.

“And did you give… you an STD?”

“No!”

“Or get me pregnant?”

Stiles stared. “I forgot how weird my brain used to be,” he said. “No, I never fell pregnant.”

“And you wouldn’t lie to me about this, ‘cause you’d only be screwing yourself over, so don’t worry about the raincoat.”

“Don’t say raincoat,” Stiles said. “Someone’s going to walk out on you because of that.”

“Out on me for good? What an asshole.”

“Nah, just out of the bedroom.” Derek was an asshole for that, though. Stiles wriggled his fingers, brushing his younger self’s prostate once more, and then pulled them out, wiping them on the inside of Stiles’s thigh. The kid grumbled at him for it. “Lift up your hips a little more, okay? And relax. And breathe.”

Stiles raised himself up on his knees and elbows, arching his back like a natural. Stiles had to swallow hard to keep himself from squeaking. This was him. And he was hot. And he was about to fuck hot sixteen-year-old him. 

He positioned himself behind Stiles, nudging his thighs further apart with his knees. He slid his hands over Stiles’s back, his thighs, his hips. The head of his cock nudged Stiles’s ass. “Good?” he asked.

“Good.”

Stiles slicked up his cock quickly, then knee-walked a little bit closer until he could slide his cock in between the cheeks of Stiles’s ass. “ _Fu-uck_ ,” he breathed. “You - Jesus, I need to fuck you.”

“I sort of need you to fuck me, so go right ahead.” Stiles’s voice was muffled, his face buried in the pillow again. His long fingers were linked behind his neck.

“Don’t pass out,” Stiles said. He slowly started pushing into the hot, tight clutch of Stiles’s hole, stopping once the head of his cock popped in. Younger Stiles clenched around him tightly and Stiles dug his fingers into his younger self’s hips. “Just – oh my God, just let me know when you’re good.”

“I’m good,” Stiles said, the words blending together in his haste. “I’m good, I‘m good, I’m good, fuck me.”

“Relax.” Stiles watched the kid take a deep breath and felt the tight grip around his cock loosen slightly. “That’s it.” He pushed himself deeper, stopping every time a whimper came from Stiles. This had hurt, he remembered that much. It had been amazing to finally be fucked and having something in his ass had made sense for the first time and all he’d wanted to do was thrust back onto Stiles’s dick… but it had hurt and made it difficult to breathe. _Frankie say relax_ had become his mantra for the first two or three minutes.

Stiles kept every one of his movements slow, easing himself in and waiting every couple of inches, until he was finally, _finally_ balls-deep in Stiles. He let out his breath in a hiss, willing himself not to lose control. He’d been waiting for this moment for seven years and now he felt like he was going to blow his load at any second. “Don’t -” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat roughly. “Dude, you’ve gotta stop clenching like that or I’m going to come right now.”

Stiles’s first reply was a sort of whimper-moan before he lifted his head from the pillow. “I thought - oh, fuck, don’t move, gimme a sec - thought I was the one who was meant to come too quick.”

“You’ve already come,” said Stiles. 

“Could totally do it again.”

“I’m counting on it,” Stiles said. He pushed his hips forward tentatively, then, encouraged when Stiles moaned instead of whimpered, pulled out an inch and thrust back in. 

“Christ on a cracker,” younger Stiles breathed. “More. That, yes, more, please.”

Stiles rocked back and forth, settling into an easy rhythm and counting backwards from one hundred to keep from coming. God, the guy who’d fucked him had been like a sex god. There was no way Stiles was that guy. He was barely hanging on right now. Why had he never fucked this kid before?

Oh, yeah, right.

A hand gripped Stiles’s thigh, pulling him sharply forward, making Stiles throw back his head and groan. “Fuck me properly,” younger Stiles demanded. “I’m good, fuck me harder.”

“There’s no way I was as bossy as you,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

“You told me this is about my fantasies.”

“Blame the guy who fucked me,” Stiles said, pulling out slightly. “I’m just saying what he said.”

Younger Stiles laughed, but it broke off into a sob when Stiles thrust back in harder than he had before. “Oh, Jesus, yes.”

“Yeah?” Stiles said. “There?” He thrust again, moaning as Stiles tightened around him. He pulled further out every time, his thigh muscles already burning. He started pulling at Stiles’s hips, encouraging the kid to move with him. He caught on quickly, letting go of Stiles’s thigh and raising himself up onto his hands, pushing himself back with every one of Stiles's thrusts. They settled into a quick rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Stiles bit back a groan; it had been too long since he last topped. He and Derek needed to have a talk about that.

But this wasn’t Derek. This was Stiles. Beautiful sixteen-year-old Stiles who thought all there was to him was clumsiness and too many words. Fuck, Stiles could remember how that felt and it had sucked balls. 

He opened his mouth, ready to tell Stiles everything. Ready to tell him that people in high school sucked, but college in New York would be amazing; ready to tell him that he landed the most gorgeous werewolf in Beacon Hills and that werewolf thought he was the lucky one; ready to tell him that he was so much hotter than he thought he was and he was going to break hearts and that this? This was nothing compared to his future. Being fucked by yourself was easy; somehow managing not to fuck yourself over and end up with a mostly-happy ever after was the hard bit, and somehow, he did it.

But younger Stiles started begging before Stiles could begin to talk. “Oh, fuck, please. I want you to - oh, God, right there, again, please, fuck me, come on. Harder, _please_.”

Stiles’s hips snapped forward of their own accord and when he pulled back, he pulled out completely. He stabbed against Stiles’s ass twice before he grabbed his dick and guided it back in. Younger Stiles clenched around him instantly and Stiles’s words died on his lips, knowing he wasn’t going to last. He reached around to grab younger Stiles’s dick and started jerking him off roughly, timing it with his thrusts the way Derek had taught him. Stiles’s dick was hot and slick in his hand, pre-come leaking copiously. He slid his hand down to roll Stiles’s balls in his hand for a second before returning to his dick, gripping him tightly and moving his hand fast, the way he had done to himself when he was sixteen, the way he knew he liked. 

Stiles felt his balls drawing up and he leaned down over Stiles’s back as his hips jerked crazily, humping frantically. “I’m gonna,” he managed to gasp, and then he was coming, biting down on Stiles’s shoulder as he did. 

Stiles came, too, hot wet splashes coating Stiles’s hand as he came inside the kid harder than he ever had before in his life. His vision flashed white for a second and he moaned, deep and guttural. Underneath him, Stiles was whimpering and pleading his way through his orgasm.

When younger Stiles fell flat onto the bed, Stiles couldn’t even be a gentleman. He collapsed right on top of him.

* * * 

“Hey.”

Stiles opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of his own neck, his dick softening in a sticky mess. “Huh?” he said.

“You’ve put on weight, dude. There’s no way I’m as heavy as you. Get off me.”

Rolling off Stiles and onto his back, his dick slipping out of Stiles’s hole as he went, was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. “Shut up,” he said, eyes slipping closed again. “I’m, like, one fifty now, so fuck you.”

Then, just to freak the kid out, he said the exact same thing younger Stiles did at the exact same time: “Dude, don’t. The joke’s too obvious.”

Stiles opened his eyes to see his younger self staring at him in horror, shaking his head. “No, don’t do that. Next thing I know, the Doctor’s gonna show up and offer to take me to Midnight.” 

Stiles grinned and closed his eyes again. His shoulder was shoved a second later. “Dude, no. I’m in the wet spot, move over.”

“If I move over,” Stiles said, because he had been a selfish jackass seven years ago and not much had changed, “I’ll be either off the bed or in the wet spot. So fuck you.”

“ _Dude_.”

“What’s the time?”

He felt Stiles shift beside him. “Um, almost five-thirty.”

“ _Fuck_.” Stiles sat bolt upright despite every bone in his body telling him that this was his bed, sleep, sleep. He choked when he looked down at younger Stiles, still lying on his stomach with come trickling down his thigh. “I – oh Jesus, why do you have to look like that? I’ve got three minutes and if I go back without Derek’s shirt, he’ll kill me.”

Younger Stiles frowning as Stiles hopped around the room, trying to pull his pants on and find his shirt at the same time. “Why the fuck are you wearing Derek’s clothes?”

Stiles froze, balancing on one foot. Oh, that was going to bother him for a long time. “Long story,” he said. “Help me find my other shoe.”

Between the two of them, they got Stiles dressed with a minimum of falling over. Younger Stiles sat on the edge of the bed. Stiles stood in front of him, hands in his pockets. “So, um…” 

“See you?” younger Stiles offered. 

Stiles grinned. He looked at the kid in front of him, all too-long limbs and what he thought were awkward features, and remembered what he had wanted to say earlier. But that… that would have been so much easier without having to make eye contact. “Look,” Stiles said hurriedly. “You don’t… you’re okay. People don’t know that, but you really are, and things get really good, really soon, I promise.” His mouth twitched with a smile. “Just don't stop believin'.”

Younger Stiles recoiled in horror. “Dude, don't quote Journey at me.”

“You'll miss me when I'm gone,” Stiles said. “Seriously, when you find those river monsters, you're gonna wish I was here so we could built a Jaeger and pilot it together.”

“A what?”

Stiles felt his entire face light up. “Oh, man, you still have Pacific Rim to look forward to! Dude, it's awesome.”

“That's what you're telling me?” younger Stiles said, looking unimpressed. “You’re me, dude. Aren’t you meant to give me wise advice about the future? Stuff about becoming a man?”

Stiles laughed. “Nah,” he said. “It’s more exciting to work it out as you go along. Of course, you’re going to hate me for this when things are going to shit, but some of the surprises are good ones.” He thought of waking up next to Derek for the first time, seeing that sleepy smile and receiving morning-breath kisses. “Most of them are good ones.”

“Right,” Stiles said. “Oh, hey, and thanks for the, um.” He waved his hand at his crotch. “The devirginilization.” 

Stiles grinned. “Any time.” 

The room started growing smaller. Younger Stiles’s eyes grew wide and Stiles thought of Derek’s smile and started counting. 

_Three… two… one…_

* * * 

He was back in his study, taking deep breaths. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the burnt piece of paper and oak leaf on his desk. So. That’s how that finally happened.

Light flared in the room. 

“Oh. Shit.” 

Stiles froze. He knew that voice. 

He turned around slowly. His own face, a little more drawn, a little more lined, stared back at him. The future him raised a hand. “Hi.” Then he ducked as Stiles grabbed the first book that came to hand and threw it as hard as he could. “Jesus, fuck, no.”

“Seriously? _Seriously_?”

“Yeah, dude,” said the future Stiles. “Seriously.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [One of Us Needs an Evil Goatee by Kay_Jay_Dee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160157) by [Kenda1L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L)




End file.
